


one day we’ll get nostalgic for disaster

by cyanica



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Coda, Crying During Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Existentialism, F/F, First Time, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Lesbian Ahsoka Tano, Light Angst, Love Confessions, No Smut, Post-Coital, Post-Coital Cuddling, Sharing a Bed, basically ahsoka thinking about Jedi values during soft lesbians times with trace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23948698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanica/pseuds/cyanica
Summary: She had fallen into the blinding, unknown forbiddenness in the same she had fallen from grace, yet instead of blameworthy sinfulness coating her throat, Ahsoka tasted the stars.Or, twilight had only just began to reach into the depths of Coruscant’s underworld, and Ahsoka was contemplating religion within the afterglow.
Relationships: Trace Martez/Ahsoka Tano
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	one day we’ll get nostalgic for disaster

**Author's Note:**

> a small part of me ships ahsoka/trace, even tho trace was kinda a dumbass,, but it makes sense coz ahsoka is her knight in shining armour to trace’s damsel in distress. well maybe xd anyway, this lil’ fic just explores ahsoka’s internal musings about attachment, the jedi and even anidala etc after her and trace’s first time oop.
> 
> underage warning because underage sex is implied, though there is no on-scree sex or smut.
> 
> title from ‘hum hallelujah’ - fall out boy. literally every one of my fics is named after a fob lyric, sue me im a repressed emo and not okay.

Ahsoka weaved delicate fingers across the warmth expanse of skin from Trace’s back, perfectly content in floating within the glow of twilight dawn that had just barely begun to reach the shrouded darkness of the underworld. She counted Trace’s breaths in the same way one would count sheep, count stars in the constellated blackened sky. 

She had stayed awake throughout the night, tangled in Trace’s arms on her tiny, single cot, yet she had never felt so  _ calm _ in doing so. The constant, suffocating wrongness in the air suddenly seeped away into nothingness as she and Trace had collided as one flesh, falling into a closeness that rebelled against everything she had ever been taught – well, not everything. 

Ahsoka felt hot, starry frequencies throughout the base of her skull in the part of her brain that usually burned a familiar, vibrant ember of flame and light – the part of her mind that echoed with pure, addictive attachment to those whom she cared for. And there, lying in the warmth of her hold of the Force, was now Trace, who had all but consumed it with her youthful, blinding energy. Her presence in Ahsoka’s Force-sensitive mind astonished her, growing more powerful as the seconds passed by. It was unfathomable to Ahsoka how this  _ stranger _ had fallen into place within her heart, as if she had always  _ meant _ to be there. She burned, craved and demanded that connection like a blinding, radiant sun across the Force, and seeped fiery warmth throughout the air as if Trace were made of pure flame. 

The heat reminded her of Anakin.

Their bond had become something distant in the last few months since she’d walked away, yet if renewed, Ahsoka believed that that sense of power would be  _ overwhelming _ .

Throughout the war, the blinding essence of pure white light become familiar, drenching her in habitual, intimate safety from the burning spark that littered power, hope and compassion throughout the air. Years ago, Ahsoka remembered distantly, how she’d once asked, Anakin if he knew. If he  _ knew _ that he felt like a nebula of constellations, like a glazing universe throughout the deep expanse of wild space inside her fragile, young mind. He had said, "and you feel the exact same. It's not an individual themselves that possesses the power of the sun, but rather the connection of two bound souls colliding as one." 

When she pictured the foggy memory that glazed over her mind like an abstract dream in today’s afterglow, she saw his face twist into something she couldn't place. His voice was devoid of fear, of resentment – and instead evoked what she could only decipher as solemn acceptance – as if he was too tired to change what was wrong, or as if he didn't want to. It was unusual, Ahsoka having the inability to read her Master, this one time. It was frightening. 

Anakin Skywalker, through his own fatal flaw, had inevitably taught his apprentice attachment. Love. And perhaps that was the only reason she could let go of her guilt and taste Trace’s lips and feel serenity, where she should have tasted sin. There was raw  _ power _ behind what she and Trace had, not merely a show of delinquent rebellion and the need to be someone who a Jedi was not, but pure intimacy that felt so overwhelmingly foreign and absent throughout her life, she felt like weeping. 

In the euphoric heat that had rivaled a supernova’s core, and Trace’s whispers amongst the night’s afterglow about  _ ‘the miracle that had fallen from the sky’, _ Ahsoka couldn’t help it as the tears came spilling from her eyes. She had never felt such powerless relief. 

Trace had been terrified – terrified that she had hurt Ahsoka, terrified she had ruined it all – but it was instead the complete reverse. The feeling of Trace’s mouth on hers, and another body fusing with hers like gasoline to a flame was overwhelming in the most chaotically beautiful sort of way. Ahsoka was tasting the forbidden, and the glorious, unknown pure sensation of passion made the wavelengths throughout the Force burst in devotion, in sweet, addictive intoxication – so much so, that Ahsoka was unable to stifle her emotions underneath the surface like she was supposed to – the way a Jedi would have.

Perhaps this is what Anakin and Senator Amidala had. She would never be sure, but Ahsoka could read between the lines of the “be careful, Padmé”s and the “I always am, Ani”s. It was a part of themselves – an oath to each other – that they kept hidden, a secret – like they were hiding the moons from the night sky.

She could now understand why their connection couldn’t just be simply  _ broken _ . This attachment,  _ devotion _ to someone else was a living, breathing extension of oneself in the same way the Force was a part of everything. It was a  _ need _ , and the deprivation of sixteen years without it caused the new found intimacy to feel as if the world was coming undone in the best kind of way. The rich, intoxication of  _ love _ was impossible to rise above, in favour of simply  _ falling _ .

With Trace, the Force had been a raging storm of  _ everything _ , it was pure lightning inside her tiny mind, erupting in nebulas of constellations and milky ways and galaxies that lit aflame each time the other girl’s tongue swept over her lips, or her hands danced over Ahsoka’s flesh. 

She had fallen into the blinding, unknown forbiddenness in the same she had fallen from grace, yet instead of blameworthy sinfulness coating her throat until all she tasted was suffocating ash drowning her with fire, Ahsoka tasted the stars. She tasted Trace, and with their kiss, the universe and all of it’s sins that had somehow become the responsibility of Ahsoka Tano to mend, melted away like dying stars falling upon the world. Those deadened clusters of gas and flame and heat evoked fiery, feverish devoted delirium, and yet Ahsoka had never felt such spirituality in a long, long time.


End file.
